


Awaken The Scars

by gaialux



Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 22:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For what human ill does not dawn seem to be an alleviation? - Thomas Wilder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awaken The Scars

**Author's Note:**

> Inglourious Basterds does not belong to me. This piece of fiction was written for entertainment purposes only, no profit is gained.

He would awaken often at night, catching sight of the moon high in the sky and the stars shimmering against the dark velvet of the universe. For a moment he could stare out the makeshift window of and see beauty.

It was beauty in a place where death, violence, and destruction were their usual. The Basterds didn't regret this – at least he didn't believe so – yet there was a sense of wistful wanderlust when considering what could have been. If Hitler had not risen to power? If he had not accepted conscription? If he had not...murdered?

Of all three scenarios, the third seemed the least likely, and the furthest from regret. This knowledge of his mind's process sickened him. He hadn't been born a murderer. No, he couldn't have been! All of these acts he committed were done out of necessity, out of what _they_ had done to  _him_.

As if almost in reflex, his hand traveled to his back and trailed under his shirt. He winced, sucking in a harsh breath as his finger brushed over one of the fresh marks. All the rest were old, solidified into his skin and marking it a mixture of red and deathly pale white. He could still remember the whips, the sound they made when slamming against flesh and feel of a broken jaw from clenching too tight.

These were the memories he kept when stabbing, slicing, and mauling the Nazis with his Basterds. It was what he reminded himself to get him through the night – only it wasn't working too well as of late. He spent more time with his eyes open than closed, more time captured in thought than dreams. He did not know what it was his thoughts returned to, only that it left him nauseous and longing for another life.

He did not speak to Aldo of this, yet there was an unspoken acknowledgment between the two of them. He would continue to cut off his emotions and kill, because he was amongst the best, because he was going to be the hero of the Jews, even without the religious affiliation. After it was all over he could retire in any European country he chose and remember why there was freedom. Only it would not be that simple. Nothing was ever that simple.

He pulled his shirt back down and sighed, resting his arm on the make-shift windowsill and just staring out at the darkness, watching the stars. Germany had once been so brilliant, so vibrant, now you were lucky to walk down a street and not be stopped by a soldier. And for what? He knew he was not particularly bright, but even the intelligent Aldo could not fathom the reasons behind all this mess.

All he could do was keep killing, keep shedding blood to stop the shedding of more blood. A situation of which he could never quite find the release button to.

"Hugo?"

He didn't even move at the sound of his name, knowing instead that Aldo would come to him. Why bother moving? It wouldn't change anything.

"Hugo, what're you doin'? We gotta leave early. Go to sleep." Aldo's voice was thick of sleep, and he wished Aldo would do just as he demanded.

He heard the movement of hay and an annoyed sound that crossed between a grunt and a sigh before Aldo was by his side, arm also resting on the sill and eyes also focused to the sky.

"Peaceful like this, in'nt it?"

He could only nod and keep staring.

"One day you can come back 'ere – after it's all over." Aldo paused. "If ya want."

"I don't know what I want," he replied in a thick English. He had reached the point of near perfect understanding, but his accent still seemed to confuse all the Basterds, except maybe Aldo. He turned to the man. "But I will follow you."

A small smiled seemed to tug at Aldo's lips. Such a foreign sight it was almost unnerving. "That's what I like to hear."

"Got a  _zigarette_?"

Aldo rocked back as he dug around in his pockets and eventually pulled out a cigarette. "Learnin' more German than you are English." He handed the smoke over. "Careful not to let any Nazis see."

"Is one letter," he replied, and lit up the stick, "And they never see."

"Might get lucky."

" _Bezweifle_."

"Yeah, well, whatever. Think pos'tive."

He just breathed out the smoke and starred up at the stars. So many questions and not enough answers. There had to be some place in the world where everything made sense, where you weren't constantly trapped asking yourself whether anything you did was actually changing anything. Whether what you did had any moral basis at all. He didn't even consider himself a religious man, but these thoughts plagued his mind.

Aldo clasped his hand around his shoulder once, twice. "'ave a good night, Hugo." Then he could hear the sounds of Aldo moving back across the loft, and the movement of fabric as he settled back down.

Hugo stayed up questioning the stars.

 


End file.
